If this is your first visit, be sure to
check out the FAQ by clicking the
link above. You may have to register
before you can post: click the register link above to proceed. To start viewing messages,
select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below.

Topic 6 ~ Not less

Welcome to the sixth drabble thread in Remus's Reflections. This is the place you post drabbles about the topic posted. The topic is something both important and significant to the world around us and to the Harry Potter-verse.

Please keep drabbles under a PG-13 rating and remember that everyone doesn't have the same views, so be respectful.

Also, remember that DH spoilers must be preceded by a clear warning. If you have questions about what may be a spoiler and what may not then drop me a PM (or MithrilQuill) and we will help you.

When posting a drabble use this form:

Name:
House:
Title:
Warnings: (DH Spoilers, for example)
Word count:

If you wish to respond to another drabble in this thread use this form:

Name:
House:
Title:
Drabble you’re responding to: (title and original author)
Why? (what inspired you to respond to it, what did you like most about it, etc)
Warnings:
Words:

I could see her, from the shadows, walking the cobblestones of Diagon Alley, her eyes taking in the filth and misery around her. A sneer graced her hollowed face and a wand was in her hand, but I didn't care. I had everything I needed: my little bowl for change and my rocks. My rocks, all sorted by type, lustre, texture, and color. I had loved rocks for years, and even before my parents found out about Hogwarts, they had urged me to become a geologist - and I nearly did. Magic was fun, but rocks were far better.

I could feel a chill over my bones, and I turned to see a pair of high, black boots standing in front of me. I looked up, only to see the woman who had been walking down the street. To me, she looked unhappy.

"Oh, hello," I said cheerfully. "Are you admiring my rock collection, or do you want to contribute? I'm an important person you know, but it's obvious you're much more important than I am. My, are you unsavory? That scowl on your face is really unbecoming, and you should do something with your hair - make it more tidy -"

"Shut up!" the woman snarled. "Why aren't you looking at me? Look me in the eyes, like the filthy Mudblood you are! Show some respect."

I found that behavior rather rude, and I didn't feel like looking into her eyes, so I continued to stare somewhere above and to the left of her navel. "Well, I'm just implying that being pleasant to others is a better way, and you could do with some respect: I have the greatest rock collection in Diagon Alley. Look at all of the geodes and slate, truly marvelous! Do you want a closer look?"

"I don't give a damn about rocks!" the woman hissed, and suddenly I recognized her: the Lestrange girl that I had gone to school with. She had never liked me, but, then again, not many people had. They called me 'odd' or 'strange' or 'mad'. In my opinion, those were good names for a wizard - and a geologist.

Regardless, it would be impolite not to point out the obvious. "Miss Lestrange, I don't want any trouble now, but you see, I am the most important person on this block -"

The woman did something odd then. She laughed, very hard. She even had to clutch her stomach. I was bewildered. What was so funny?

"And I would think that you should show me more respect," I continued sternly. "Unless you want to see my rocks -"

Abruptly she stopped laughing. "I remember you, now. The deranged little boy who needed counseling all the time." Her smile grew wider, and I could only assume that a warm hug (and maybe even a warm meal) might follow it.

Instead, she pointed her wand at my rocks - my rocks - and said slowly, relishing the words, "Reducto!"

I could only scream when the bolt made my rocks crumble, breaking apart into thousands of pieces, bits of dust and grit, unrecoverable. Destroyed.

"You r-ruined it," I stammered, tears already coming to my eyes. "Y-you d-destroyed them all! How could you? H-how could you?" I was already on my hands and knees, trying to salvage anything I could.

But when I turned back to plead for help from my old schoolmate, I could only see her walking away, muttering 'retarded Mudblood' under her breath.

She left me alone, in my little niche, with my tears, and my shattered collection of rocks.

This story was very personal and heartbreaking for me to write, and I hope others feel the same.

“There is nothing else we can do for him. He will never walk again, but there are options. He just has to take a look at the different modes of transportation available for injuries like this,” the healer said to my mother.

“I thought that magic could heal injuries like this? Why are you unable to heal this injury?” cried my mother. Tears were streaming down her face. She had not yet realized that I was awake. I was lying there flat on my back unable to feel or move my legs, which I would never be able to do again.

“I sorry, but his injury was caused by several different curses that hit all at the same time. There just isn’t anything that we can do. There are options available; some that even hide injuries like this. I will leave this catalog on the table for you. Call me if you need anything or he awakes in pain,” the healer said as she left the room.

Mother just collapsed into a chair sobbing. “Why did he have to stay at Hogwarts to fight? He should have come home to me!” she said to herself.

“Ma, I had to fight. My school was under attack. The Death Eaters were there and were going to kill my friends. I am glad I stayed. I am glad that I fought. Too many of my friends died as it was! Can’t you understand that I’m not a boy anymore? I am a young man fighting for what I believe in. I couldn’t leave my friends to fight without me. Too few Hufflepuffs stayed; perhaps less damage would have been done if more had stayed. We succeeded, too. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead!” said I with passion. My words startled my mother, but she looked at me proudly.

“I know my son. I am proud of you. I guess I should be happy, at least you lived. Too many mothers are mourning their children tonight,” she said as she embraced me. Both of us had tears streaming down our faces. Neither of us was ashamed of our tears. She mourned the loss of my innocence and me turning into a man. I mourned the lost of my friends and professors.

Name:wewillmissyou, Alex
House: Hufflepuff
Title: Remember
Warnings: Mental Disorder, Character Death
Word count: 569 (sorry I tried to shorten down as best as I could, I already took out over a hundred words, and taking anymore would completley ruin my story)

Nails on a chalkboard.

A cat being tortured.

That's what she sounded like.

Mum had told me from a young age that she was sick in the head, and that she was trapped inside her own mind. I used to wonder how that was possible, how you could get stuck inside yourself. But there was no doubt that she was.

Not a single Healer knew what to do with her. She failed all the tests, she could not verbalize her wants in any shape or form, yet brain scans said that she was perfectly normal.

Her shrieks of agony every night begged to differ.

I would often sit up late just listening to her scream for hours on end, until she lost her voice.

When I was fifteen, mum decided she was too much work. Before I was sent off to Hogwarts for my fifth year; we checked her in to St. Mungo's for good.

She screamed for hours when we first brought her there.

We left around midnight, my mother with a broken heart, and me, with bleeding eardrums.

I didn't go back to visit her; it was easier to forget she didn't exist. I finished Hogwarts, got married, and became a secretary in Improper Use of Magic office. For twenty years, I had no sister.

Then one day I got an owl from a Healer saying that my sister was dying and that I should come immediately to say my goodbyes. My mum had passed years ago, leaving my sister with nobody but me.

I went to the hospital after work the next day.

She hadn't aged well; her blonde hair was gray, brown eyes black, and much skinner than a person should be. Her appearance wasn't the only thing that had changed. She no longer screamed.

"We had to put a permanent silencing spell on her," a kind matron explained," she was very loud."

I had nodded my head in response, I couldn't explain why the fact that my sister was no longer able to scream was outraging.

I don't think she recognized me. The whole time I was there she just stared at the ceiling while I talked about my life.

I wondered if this was all her life was; Healers, white walls, and the tight confines of her mind.

Before I left, I tried to organize her nightstand a bit for her, as it was overflowing with empty cups and pill bottles. At the bottom of the debris I found a picture. It looked as if it had been drawn by a child my son's age. There were three stick figures, all holding hands. The one in the middle was obviously her, our mum was the tallest on the left with red hair, and I was on the end, the smallest.

I tucked the picture into my robe pocket, and kissed my sister goodbye on the cheek. She didn't notice.

As I walked out the door I asked the Healer who cast the silencing spell on my sister, when she had drawn the picture.

"Oh, that one? She drew that years ago, and many more just like it!" The woman gave me a smile, as if it was fabulous news.

I thanked her and left.

My sister died the next day.

There is no end to the guilt I felt about forgetting my sister, when even with her diseased mind, managed to remember me.

The Daily Prophet - Exclusive Interview with Hermione Weasley

Mrs Hermione Weasley; recipient of the Order of Merlin - First Class, for her part in the defeat of Lord Voldemort, along side Harry Potter and her respected husband of 13 years Ronald Weasley. A brilliant Witch, often mentioned amongst the greatest Witches and Wizards of our time, the brave and plucky young mother of two agreed to tell her story exclusively to me.

Sitting in her elegant home she tells, in her own words, how she struggled to come to terms with loosing her sight.

"It happened so suddenly; I woke early one morning and I instantly knew there was something wrong, a sense of foreboding flooded through me, of course it wasn't until I opened my eyes that I realised what it was. I admit, I panicked, I was almost hysterical by the time we reached St. Mungo's, but sadly, there is nothing anyone can do about it.

Luckily I have lots of good friends and family who are only too willing to help and I am so grateful for their care that it feels churlish to complain, but it has still been so very difficult for me to accept.

I would swing violently from one emotion to another, first I was angry; I refused all offers of help, determined to carry on as I had before, but pride comes before a fall, quite literally in my case, and it was only when I fell and broke my ankle that I realised there was no way I could continue as I had been. At that point I simply gave up trying, and sank into a deep, despairing, depression. I barely spoke, wouldn't wash, refused to leave the house and spent a long time in bed, I didn’t feel anything at all, I was numb, yet I couldn’t stop the constant stream of tears from flowing. It was Ron who eventually made me see sense. One day he came to me and said, quite simply, that things couldn’t carry on the way they had, I was hurting my family and friends by shutting them out. That night we had a long conversation, I began to express my emotions for the first time and found that something as simple as just talking about it really does help.

I still have my days when I cry or rage at the unfairness of it all, I still miss seeing my children’s beautiful faces, watching the sun set and reading my books, although I am learning Braille, which should make life a little easier. Just a few weeks ago my husband helped me apply for a guide dog, which will be a huge step towards gaining back some independence, I’m even hopeful that I may one day return to work. Life has dealt me this hand, and I have to find a way to live with it, one day at a time.”

I think the readers will join me in wishing the courageous Mrs Weasley and her family the best of luck.
5 points to Ravenclaw!

Hugo’s screams echoed down the street as he lay on the floor, kicking and screaming and pounding the cobbles. Hermione knelt beside him, biting her lip and glancing around with a helpless desperation. People stood stock still and blatantly stared; an old woman hobbled passed, shook her head scornfully and muttered, “spoilt rotten.”

Argus Filch walked back into his office, grumbling about the mess he’d just had to clean up. Every night the Quidditch teams dragged in mud and grass. And who had to clean it up? Always me, he thought. With a heavy sigh, he sat down in the wooden chair and picked up a quill. He hated writing up reports. It wasn’t going to solve anything. Those kids were still going to keeps dropping Dungbombs and breaking things. “Should be hung by their toes, all of ‘em,” he said under his breath, “That’ll teach them not to go mucking up the place.”

Fifteen minutes later, he went to file away all the papers. Three more additions to the Weasley file, or rather, the drawer. Another few went into various files. Turning back to his desk, he saw among the cream-colored pieces of parchment the bright purple envelope. He ran his fingers over the silver print that read, KWIKSPELL: A Correspondence Course in Beginners’ Magic. This was it, the solution to everything.

Listening to make sure no one was around, Filch carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the stack of parchment. Mrs. Norris brushed past his legs and curled up at his feet. He flipped to the first lesson on how to hold a wand. While reading, he couldn’t help but think, Just a few flicks of a wand and I wouldn’t have to spend hours scrubbing!

Filch knew this was what he needed, that this course would help fill the gaping hole inside of him. It was no matter that he hadn’t gone to a magical school as a boy, nor did it make a lick of difference that he still hadn’t done any magic. He never thought of the summers when all of his friends would come home from school and show off the new spells they had learned that year, while he would sit off to the side. He barely even remembered the time when he was thirteen that his parents had taken him to St. Mungo’s to make sure he was “normal.” It didn’t bother him in the least that they had told him there was no way to fix a Squib. Nor was it significant that he couldn't get a job anywhere else. No, none of that mattered. All that was important now was the parchment he held in his hands, and the future beyond a ruddy caretaker's post that he could already see ahead.

All of a sudden, Mrs. Norris’s ears perked up. Lifting her head, she let out a soft “Meow” and scuttled out of the dingy office.
“What is it Mrs. Norris? What are they doing now?” Filch stood and shuffled to the door. He looked out.

“Your eye was completely destroyed by the spell, Mr. Moody,” replied the Healer, a touch shakily. “There is absolutely nothing we can. The dark magic is irreversible.”

Moody glared silently at him with his remaining good eye. Truth be told, he was angrier with himself than with the Healer. If he had not let his guard down in that shopping mall he might not have been injured at all. There was no one to blame but himself.

“What are my options?” he growled, trying to keep his ire in check.

The little healer perked up slightly and pulled several brochures out of a lime green folder. “There are some very life-like substitutes available nowadays.” He handed the pamphlets to Alastor. “I will leave these with you.”

When the door swung shut Moody got up off the bed and walked into the tiny washroom. The mirror over the sink pitilessly reflected his scared and bandaged face. He stared morosely at himself. Years ago he would have been called a handsome man. Now the loss of his eye must be added to a host of other battle trophies: his wooden leg, his ravaged face, his hunched shoulders and gnarled hands. “Gah, I’d go through it all again. The look on their faces when I catch ‘em is worth it every time.” He pulled back the bandage and examined his empty eye socket critically. “There’s got to be a way to make this work in my favor,” he muttered.

Returning to his bed he picked up the brochures and began flipping though them. Most were tastefully colored in soothing blues, greens, and grays. They depicted before and after shots, the subjects proudly displaying reconstructed faces or limbs. One brochure, however, stood out from the rest. It was a violent shade of fuchsia and had pulsating orange spots blazoned across the cover.

You Thought You Had Seen It All?
Wait Till You Try the Revolutionary~~Whacky Whizzing Wizard’s Eye~~

Special enhanced vision capabilities include:
Ability to see though solid objects
Full range of vision
Control over your spinning eyeball
And much, much, more!

Moody read the packet and then pocketed it. He gathered his few belongings and prepared to check out. He would be back at his job tomorrow morning, eye or no eye. But this Whacky Whizzing contraption just might turn his unfortunate injury into a welcome advantage.